The Best Mistakes
by ScaraMedn
Summary: The job is to serve and protect. Unfortunately, it comes with politics in tow. Judy tried to do a good thing and succeeded, possibly at the expense of her badge. Now, she's left hanging and all she has to hang onto are her mistakes. One of which has red fur and too many secrets.


A/N:

Here we go with another WildeHopps tale. And that's all the spoilers you get. This is not strictly canon, but I don't think it'll be too big a diversion from the original. Either way, I think it's a fun little tale. One-shot. Enjoy!

* * *

"Officer Hopps, I hope you know how deep you are in it this time. I backed your return to the force after the Nighthowler debacle and I haven't regretted it. But this...this is an entirely different matter."

Judy stood tall as her boss' weary, frustrated voice battered her. She couldn't lift her eyes from the floor.

"While you've assured the arrest and likely incarceration of two dozen of the city's political movers and shakers, the rest are out for blood." She heard his glasses plop onto his desk. "Yours, specifically. I can not guarantee your badge, so enjoy it while you retain it."

Judy swallowed before barking, "Yes, sir."

Bogo sighed. "For the next two weeks, you are on paid administrative leave. By then I will have dealt with the aftermath of you going rogue and know what to do with you. Until then, I want you out of my sight. And no talking to reporters."

"Understood, sir!" she snapped, ignoring the stinging in her eyes.

The chief's sigh rattled in her ears. "Dismissed, Sergeant. I want to say 'good work', but for now just go."

Judy saluted crisply and left the office. Once she was outside, she could barely keep the tears at bay. She'd known going in that she'd be playing with fire, but getting burned still hurt.

"I wanted to help."

Her words were whispered to herself and there wasn't a mammal alive that would care. Perhaps one, and he was an uncertainty at best. She pondered her future and recent past as she changed out of her duty uniform and donned her civilian clothes. Jeans and a button-up were on too quickly for her taste as it left the hard choices unavoidable.

Reluctantly, her service belt was checked and hung. Her service weapon and backup were both emptied and stowed in their lock box, followed by her stun-gun and government issue pepper spray. When all her armaments were secured, she stowed the box in the cubby at the base of her locker, closed it, and pocketed the key. She was tempted to just leave it with Bogo, but she was already in hot water. Instead, she moved it to the wallet that held her badge.

_At least I'll be able to give both back at once._

With that, she shook herself and left.

Leaving the precinct through the motor pool was frowned upon, but there were reporters at most of the doors. The last thing Judy wanted to do was piss off the Chief again so soon. Her discreet route of egress should have gotten her safely away, but there was always one. Blessedly, not a reporter. Just a jerk of all trades—most of them illegal.

"Well hello, Carrots. Fancy meeting you here." His lightly sarcastic tenor didn't even surprise her.

"I told you we were done," she replied without looking at him.

His voice and footfalls drew closer. "You told me a lot of things. Shall I list them for you?"

Judy sighed miserably. "You will either way."

To her surprise, he didn't say a thing.

"What?" she snapped.

His voice betrayed nothing. "What happened in there, Fluff?"

"Nothing I didn't see coming." She forced her fists open. "I was stupidly optimistic to think it'd end up any other way, but there you go."

"You were fired?" A thread of nebulous tension crept into his voice.

"Not yet." Judy rolled her shoulders and tried to shake off her curiosity at his uncharacteristic reaction. "My boss needs to decide how I'll be cooked before he feeds me to City Hall."

In response, he released a long, low whistle. "So much for gratitude."

Finally, Judy looked him square in the face, hating that he looked genuinely unhappy at her news. Six months ago, he was a thief. A touch old for the profession, in her opinion, but still quite serviceable. His clientele had attested to that. He'd been one of the two dozen mammals she'd "recruited" to help her with her investigation—if blackmail was considered recruitment. Helping her or getting jail time had been enough to get most of her assets to play along, but he'd been different.

Right from the get-go he'd fought her.

* * *

"Alright, Slick Nick. You've got a choice." Judy smirked as she cornered the fox by his work van. "Help me or go to jail. Your call. And I don't have all day."

A slow grin spread across his face and he leaned against his vehicle. "And what do you think you have on me, rabbit?"

"Breaking and entering, for a start." She held in her smile waiting for his face to drop.

The fox held up a document. "Authorization to enter the residence. Signed by the resident."

Her brow furrowed. "Doesn't that mean you'd need a key?"

He looked at her evenly. "I'm a locksmith."

"Convenient," she snapped as she grabbed the papers.

He shrugged. "If you say so."

"This says you were authorized to fix the sink," she scoffed. "You're a plumber, too?"

"I'm familiar with laying pipe." Her head snapped up to see his grinning face. "Figures the rabbit would get the sex joke."

The papers crumpled in her fist. "Sexual harassment of an officer is also an offence."

"The first you _might_ be able to go somewhere with." He held up a finger, forestalling her retort. "And it'd be a minimal fine once my lawyer was done with it. You really want to make an arrest over a joke? Go ahead. It's your reputation."

Her eyes passed over his half-open kit. "How about grand theft?"

"Of what?" he chortled, but Judy was sure there was a spark of something in his eyes.

"I'm not sure, but I do know safe cracking equipment." She gestured to the stethoscope and endoscope. "Now, those _could_ be for plumbing, but there's enough doubt that I could call it probable cause and search your bag, your vehicle, and your person. If I find anything questionable, you'll be looking at more than a minimal fine. Five to twelve years, I think…"

His smile grew deeper. "Depending on what you found, of course."

Judy couldn't believe her ears. He was being snide even when she was tightening the noose around his neck. Either he was incredibly sure of himself—to the point of egomania—and sure she wouldn't or there was nothing for her to find. Dread pooled in her gut at the admission and she struggled to keep a straight face.

As though sensing her distress, he moved in for the kill. "Alright, Officer Hippity-Hopps, you want me to do something for you and you're willing to try—ineptly, mind you—to blackmail me. What could I do to help you that's worth you risking your pretty little career over?"

"Locksmithing and fast talking seem to be your skill sets," she started.

"Don't forget safecracking," he added airily.

"So you admit it!" she crowed.

"I'm admitting nothing," he replied blandly. "That was just reminding you of your own assumptions."

"Fine," she spat. "'And safecracking. Do we have a deal?"

"What do I get out of it? Other than not prosecuted for a dirty joke."

Judy felt sickly inadequate as she said, "The city will thank you for it."

At that he burst into laughter. "Are you serious? That's your pitch?" He laughed until he was in tears. Finally, he composed himself enough to wheeze, "Thanks for the laugh, Carrots. See you later."

The world was giving way under her. "You can't just leave!"

"I can and I'll tell you why. I don't want to end up in jail because of you." The humor melted from his face as quickly as it had appeared. "You're a white knight trying to go rogue. That means whatever you're trying to do will end up in tears. This isn't an action movie, sweetheart. And there are real consequences to face at the end of it. Your badge may keep you out of jail when this little escapade of yours goes bad, but it won't protect me and I'm not signing up to be a scapegoat."

* * *

Judy allowed herself to be guided into the bar and to a booth near the back without complaint. She'd hated the place when he'd brought her here the first time, but it had grown on her. It was a greasy hole in the wall, but the food was good, cheap, and plentiful—as were the drinks. A minute after her tail was on the bench, a carrotini in a frosted glass appeared in front of her. She looked over and nodded to the old otter who ran the place. He winked and left.

Noticing the second glass, she eyed Nick curiously. "Club soda again?"

He sipped his glass. "Alcohol dulls your senses. You need the relief, and I need to stay clear headed."

"Worried for your client?" She hated the acid in her voice.

He smiled at her barb. "Something like that."

He was always like that—inscrutable, evasive and impossible to read. Six months of dealing with him had garnered her no more insight than the very first day they'd spoken, with one exception. He'd been hurt once as a kit and it stuck with him. Beyond that, she only had what she'd put together from the rare and vague details he'd let slip.

He was single and lived alone above his little shop in the Meadowlands. He had one living relative, but they rarely spoke. He liked fruit, rarely drank alcohol—never more than one—and didn't like getting his paws wet. And he could swim. That was it. Six months of interrogations, conversations, and constant company and that was all she knew beyond "male", "vulpine", and "sarcastic".

_He's also too damn clever for my own good._

Half her cocktail was gone when she finally asked the question that had been bugging her for weeks. "Why do you do what you do?"

He huffed a chuckle. "For the last six months, because you've been paying me."

"That's not what I meant." Judy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I have no evidence, but I've seen enough to know you're a career criminal. I can't prosecute you on admitting that. So why?"

"That's simple, honey bunny. It pays." Nick sipped his drink. "Life isn't easy for some of us. We don't all get the opportunities to be paragons and rock stars. No one trusts my kind, so I didn't have a choice."

Judy couldn't help herself. "That's a lie. There's plenty of honest work for willing paws."

"Hah! Yeah…. Thirty-eight hours a week, so they don't have to offer benefits. Minimum wage with no possibility of increases, no matter what the employee manual says," Nick scoffed. "I have no desire to be a janitor or a stock-boy for the rest of my life. I'm no 'honest mammal', but I do alright for myself."

"There's no dignity in crime," Judy stated firmly.

"Tell that to Mr. Big," NIck countered.

Judy shuddered at the memory of her meeting with the crime boss. "It still doesn't pay."

"My assets and Mr. Big's empire say otherwise." Nick finally dropped his fake smile. "I'm not proud of what I do, Carrots. But I don't have to be. I need to eat, pay my bills, and eventually retire. No one else will—certainly not the city—and certainly not the good, upstanding mammals of the citizenry who treat me like vermin."

Judy finished her drink. "It's still not right."

Nick sipped pensively before responding. "No?"

"No." Her tone was firm, but her conviction wavered.

"So I should accept my place in life? Settle for my own little niche and scrape by, supplementing my meals with dignity?" Nick's sarcasm grated on her ears.

Another drink appeared in front of her and then vanished. "You could strive for better."

NIck's voice was quiet and cold. "My dad did. It got him killed."

Judy stared, slack-jawed. "What did you say?"

"It's the same old story. Country mammal moves to the city for a new start. He meets a female, they get married, have a kit. He works his tail off doing shit jobs, saving to open a business. He's all set to pitch it to the bank and set up his tailor shop…" His tale sounded sweet and nostalgic, but the bitterness was clear.

Judy shoved her glass away, leaning forward. "What happened?"

"Some local boys got together to teach the uppity fox a lesson." Nick scowled. "He died two weeks later in the hospital. It soaked up every penny we had and the cops closed the case the same day it opened. We starved until I started getting my underworld education."

Judy felt her stomach churn. "Did you…"

"Find my dad's murderers?" he finished for her. "No. I know who they are, but they aren't worth my time. Besides, they all ended up getting theirs through the good graces of Karma."

She found herself standing on her seat. "How?"

"Uh-uh," he admonished. "That's enough of that. You need to drink your sorrows away, and I need to get you home in one piece so I can get paid. Now bottoms up!"

Judy obliged.

She knew she wouldn't get another word out of him on the topic, so she let it drop. Her glass disappeared and was replaced with another. Judy drank silently and considered the fox across from her. He appeared to embody nonchalance. He sighed and played with his napkin or glass as he mammal-watched and passed the time, or so he wanted her to think. During their "association", as he insisted on calling it, she'd learned to look for the tiniest indicators of his mindset.

He glanced at her as he looked past her down the aisle. His eyes tracked the little otter waitress as she passed. If she asked, Judy was sure he'd tell her the waitress was cute and had a nice tail, but his eyes tracked the glass of scotch on her tray, not her rear. He was worried about Judy and wanted a drink. She would have been willing to write it off as his typical concern over a payday, but he kept rubbing his thumb against the side of his index finger. He'd done that rarely and never associated with a job.

* * *

Judy was sitting at her desk when her phone rang. Not her iCarrot, but the cheap, shitty flip phone she'd had pirated though another of her "deputized citizens". She glanced around to make sure she was alone before she checked the number. It was Nick. She knew something was wrong the moment she saw his name.

"I told you never to call me on this line," Judy whispered as she pulled herself together and hustled towards the office door.

"You said emergencies only. This is an emergency." His voice was hushed, but urgent.

The tension in his voice stopped her anger cold. "What happened?"

He didn't even wait for her to finish. "You remember my colleague, Finnick?"

"The, uh—" Judy headed down a back hallway and away from the commonly used routes through the building. "The one with the light touch?"

Nick snorted curtly. "The pickpocket, yes. He's hurt."

Her feet slowed as the irritation built again. "If he got hurt doing his job, what business is it of mine?"

"He got hurt scouting your next mark," came the snapped reply.

"I see." Judy felt herself pale. If Finnick had been caught, there was a very real chance her operation was blown. She needed to find out what happened and for that, Finnick needed to live.

Nick's voice pulled her back to the moment. "We need quick, discrete medical help. Now."

Her pace picked up to a trot. "Where are you?"

Anxiety trickled into his voice. "Behind the front driver's-side wheel of your cruiser."

"How bad?" Her keys were in her paw and her pace quickened.

"No blood on the outside." The statement should have been encouraging, but Judy felt dread settle into her bones. Blood on the outside meant visible injury. None on the outside meant anything from bruises to internal bleeding. If the little fox had been beaten badly, there was a good chance he could die. Foxes weren't known for their robust constitutions, and smaller mammals were prone to suffer worse injuries.

The tiled flooring flew under her feet as she ran. "I'm on my way."

Fifteen minutes later, she was sitting with Nick in a back-alley doctor's clinic. The place was a sty.

Nick sniffed in disgust. "Fitting for a pig."

"You knew him," Judy retorted.

She'd changed into a civilian outfit in the cruiser while Nick had helped his comrade down to the sidewalk. The last thing she wanted to do was spook the doctor. Now Finnick was being seen and all she and Nick could do was wait.

The silence stretched until she couldn't take it anymore. "Did he find anything?"

Nick rolled his eyes and groaned. "I wasn't exactly worried about your little side job, sweetheart, so I didn't ask."

Judy's ears flopped and she stammered, "I didn't mean to imply—"

"Save it," he snapped. "You can ask him when he's patched up."

"I'm only asking because I don't know what else to say," Judy snapped back. "I'm sorry he's hurt. My investigation is important, but I'm not heartless."

"Just awkward then." His sarcasm was a welcome relief.

She fiddled with her paws. "This is the first time someone I've known has gotten hurt like this."

NIck snorted. "Don't you cops usually save your sympathy for your own kind?"

"_My 'kind'_ is looking less and less appealing," she grumbled into her chest.

There was a long silence after her statement. One that left her feeling like she was in free fall. She was left with nothing to do but try not to look at the fox sitting next to her. She was doing pretty well with it until she noticed the mirror opposite them. He was looking at her. Uncertainty and concern played openly across his face. Judy knew he'd clam up the moment he realized he was being observed, so she watched their reflection only through the corner of her eye and only for a second or two at a time.

The fox's attention slipped between her and the door to the surgery and back with almost even time spent on each. It felt good to know he was paying attention to her. It was probably because of her slip of the tongue, but beggars can't be choosers. She'd said it and there was no getting that genie back in the bottle.

Nick's patience finally caved. "You can't just say something like that and leave it hanging, rabbit."

Judy sighed. "What did you expect? The more I poke around the less I like or trust my coworkers."

"It was the Commissioner that did it, I suppose," he replied evenly.

Judy nodded. "She's in a position to kill any investigation that could threaten her or her co-conspirators. It makes me wonder who else is on her payroll."

"I can't blame you," Nick commented.

Judy rubbed her face and raked her paws over her ears before asking, "So what now?"

"Now we wait. When Finnick is done here we find out what happened to him and what he learned." Nick shrugged and looked back at the door. "We'll figure it out from there."

* * *

That little chat changed a lot for her. Hearing the fox say 'we' had heartened her in ways she hadn't expected. Judy had been working on her own—outside the purview of the law and its support structure—for so long that she had forgotten how good it felt to have someone there for her, even if it was just because he was being paid. It felt good to have a partner, even if it was just for a while. The weight was a little easier to bear.

The other thing she'd learned was that every time he looked at the door in the clinic as he waited for his friend, he rubbed his thumb against the side of his finger. It wasn't until afterwards that Judy had realized it was an indication that Nick was genuinely worried. When he'd caught himself doing it he'd flexed or shook the tension out of his paw, but it was only a matter of time before he'd started up again. It was a tiny tell, and one she'd only seen from him twice—when Finnick got roughed up and tonight at the bar as he tried to hide his concern for her.

Judy squelched the buoying feeling in her chest and drained her glass again before hailing the waitress as she passed. She needed food if she was going to really drink and she felt the need growing. There was enough pain in her world already. The last thing she needed to do was start getting maudlin over half-formed suppositions and misplaced empathy. After placing an order for tempura vegetables and dumplings to go with her refilled glass, the small motion of digits moving rhythmically drew her gaze back to the opposite side of the table. It was all she could do to swallow the sigh that built up in her chest.

_Damn it… _

The waitress returned with her drink and Judy waited until she'd left to push the glass away from her and closer to her companion. Nick noted the motion and arched a curious brow at her. Forearms crossed on the table, Judy leaned forward and met his gaze. "I refuse to drink another drop until you join me."

"Pardon?" he deadpanned.

"You heard me, Slick." A smirk grew on her face at his reaction. "I don't want to drink alone."

He held up his mostly empty glass. "I'm drinking a very nice club soda."

"And you're eyeing the scotch like a lovelorn sailor." Judy munched down a tempura asparagus and continued, "So when the waitress comes back with the food, we're ordering a _couple_ of drinks and then _we_ are going to order more."

"That's a really bad decision, Carrots." Nick shook his head and chuckled.

She smiled. "At least we'll be making it in good company."

Judy met his eyes and held them. She didn't hide anything. How she felt was plain on her face. She was hurting and wanted company, not a chaperone. Everything else wasn't important. Tomorrow, the weeks after, her job… none of it was in her control. The only thing she had was the here and now. She only had to wait a few moments before the fox acquiesced. He clicked his tongue and lifted the glass to his lips, partly draining it.

Setting it down, he said, "Half. I don't like mixing alcohols and carrotinis are too sweet for me."

Judy grinned as she drained the other half of the cocktail. When the waitress came returned with the food, she took an order for another cocktail and a scotch neat. They appeared moments later and Judy lifted her glass.

"To good company and bad ideas?" Nick preempted her.

Judy huffed a laugh and clinked the glasses together. "To good intentions and all the things we can't control."

* * *

Judy woke up sore. Very. Normally, that wasn't a concern for her. She was used to a little muscle soreness. Between her job, her workout regimen, and her propensity for—as Nick called it—extreme recreation, waking up sore was not an unusual experience. This kind of sore, however, was unusual. Her upper back and shoulders hurt like she'd done too much at the weight bench and her thighs were on fire—throbbing and burning. Making matters worse, her head felt like a death metal drum solo, and she was sure she'd swallowed a whole cotton field with how her mouth felt. She'd endure a hangover, or three, living on the farm, but this was a comparative apocalypse.

Purely on instinct, she scrabbled around for something to wear. Light was an agony—what little there was of it—and nothing felt right. Somehow, her paw found and felt something that a part of her mind vaguely understood was clothing. She dragged the garment over her head and osmosis-ed her way to the floor. She noticed that it was a longer drop from the mattress to the floor, but all of her mental energy was centered on not falling over so she dropped it, just like she ignored the familiar scent of her clothes.

Someone moving around in the next room drew her attention, and she wobbled towards a door she didn't recognize. Through the door, Judy found a sight that confused and surprised her enough that the headache receded a touch.

"Nick?"

The fox slowly lowered his coffee cup to the table. "I was planning to make a Sleeping Beauty joke, but it doesn't really fit now."

She cracked an eye to glare at him. "Har har. Very funny."

"Not for the reason you assume, Hopps," he assured her.

It was too early for word games and her temples throbbed. "Oh?"

"Sleeping Beauty never walked out of my bedroom wearing one of my shirts," he commented as he rose and padded to the kitchen counter.

Judy's mind absorbed his statement and a feeling of nauseous fear crept into the foreground. "Did we…"

"Whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it. Your virtue is intact," Nick stated as he plunked a mug down in front of her. "I slept on the couch."

"Oh." Relief wafted through her with a twinge of disappointment. She shook it off as she lifted the good, black brew—just the way she liked it—to her lips.

"So you didn't miss anything." Judy stared daggers at him over her cup as he continued. "There may be a few pieces of last night you don't remember though."

"Alright, Captain Smug, I'll start from the top. Why was your shirt in the bed I slept in?" Judy held up a paw and swallowed another mouthful. "First, where am I?"

"You're in my apartment. And you refused to let go of my shirt last night." The amusement in his voice could have choked a horse. "You're really clingy when you're in your cups."

Judy buried her face in her mug and sucked down the rest of her coffee.

Nick chuckled. "It was endearing, if a bit ill-timed. Don't worry, you didn't embarrass yourself. You didn't even get sick, despite drinking enough to knock out a horse."

She massaged her temples. "I can believe it."

Nick laughed and took her mug back to the counter. He brought it back after a longer interval and Judy was instantly suspicious of the contents.

"Coffee doesn't involve whipped cream," she commented, still confused.

He nodded sagely. "I agree, but this isn't coffee. This is Irish Coffee. There's a difference."

Judy eyed her new mug dubiously. "Which is?"

"A shot of whiskey, a shot of Irish Cream and a shot of espresso." Nick preened as he sipped his own mug. "My own, personal choice of hangover remedy."

Judy groaned and rubbed her forehead. "I never understood how alcohol helped a hangover."

"It's a little hair of the fox that bit you," he replied with a wink.

Judy choked on her sip. "You didn't!"

"No, I didn't." His eyes twinkled. "Interesting kink you've got there, Carrots."

Her cheeks heated. "Oh, shut up."

"And confirmed," he sputtered. "Wow."

"If you're done taking advantage of my circumstances to embarrass me, I have more questions." Nick wiggled his eyebrows at her over the rim of his mug, which she took as a prompt instead of an innuendo. "Why am I so sore?"

He burst into laughter.

"And no sex jokes!" Judy snapped.

"No…. The truth is better," Nick chortled as he wiped his eyes. "That might be from the arm wrestling. Or maybe the mechanical bull, the three or so hours of dancing…"

She buried her face in her paws. "Oh, gods…"

"Uh huh…" Nick couldn't stop giggling. "You had quite a night out."

"When did we leave the bar?" she asked, mostly to the tabletop.

His grin deepened. "Which bar?"

Judy stared at the fox, hoping to see a tell or any indication he was joking. He didn't even blink.

"We got to The Cracked Horseshoe around 4:30, after we left the station. We left _that_ bar at about 10:30. After that, we left _a_ bar at 11:00, 11:45, 12:15, 1:00, 1:35, 2:15, 2:45, 2:50…"

Judy waved her paws to stop him. "How did we leave two bars in five minutes?"

"It was the same bar." Smug dripped from his voice. "You demanded we go back for a farewell drink with your dance-off partner."

"Oh, shoot me now," she moaned. "When did we get here?"

Nick cleared his throat. "We closed down a dive in the Bayou District around 4:00. We got back here around 4:45 am."

She rubbed her eyes and raked her paws over her ears to massage her neck. "No wonder…"

"…Yesterday," he added quietly.

Her eyes snapped open. "What?!"

"Joking!" he chirped gleefully.

"You utter turd." Judy flopped into her seat, disgruntled.

"Wow. That's positively foul-mouthed for you." Nick's grin widened. "You've slept for most of the day, but there's still a little daylight left to burn. We can go out to eat or eat in."

"I'd rather eat out." The words left her lips and she wished she could take them back. "Not like that!"

"I'm the wrong flavor for that particular activity," he wheezed.

"Oh, sod it. I'm not going anywhere." Her stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly. "Of course, we don't have that option…"

Nick dried his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Judy sighed, embarrassed. "I'm starving and I don't cook."

"Sad for you, but luckily _I_ do." He stood and headed for the stove.

Judy blinked in astonishment. "You cook?"

He smirked over his shoulder. "It's even edible."

An hour later, Judy was mulling over her situation in a squashy chair caddy-corner to the couch and television. The fox's cooking wasn't stellar. In reality, any college graduate could probably have managed the same, but it was good food—nothing from a can, filling, and flavorful. The meal had concluded when he'd whisked the plates away from her and pressed another full mug into her paw.

Resigned, Judy asked, "What's this now?"

"It's called Gigolo's Pardon," he said as he plopped into his chair.

She eyed the mug dubiously. "Are you serious?"

He sipped his own drink. "It's like Sympathy for the Devil, but sweeter."

She sniffed the warm liquid. "Is that a drink too?"

"Give me twenty minutes and it can be, but that can wait until you're fully recovered," he replied with a smirk. "I don't kick people when they're down."

"Alright." Judy looked skeptically at her newest vessel. "What's in this?"

Nick waved his paw dramatically. "Espresso coffee mixed with warmed amaretto, which you drink through the cream on the top."

Judy pulled a face. "It sounds vile."

"If you want, I can make it a Gigolo's Last Stand," he replied absently.

She cringed. "What's in that?"

"The same thing with a double of cheap whiskey." His wry smile and wink sent a shiver through her.

She gave herself and mental slap. "Are you trying to get me drunk again?"

He shrugged. "Is that what you want?"

"If it is, I'm not doing it alone." She leaned back from the mug.

"It's 2:30 in the afternoon, rabbit." There was absolutely no conviction in his voice. "Even I have the decency to wait until 5:00."

She swallowed a laugh. "Then why am I drinking gigolo-whatever this is?"

"That's just a dose to get you through the pain of the afternoon sun." He sipped his drink. "There's a lot of water with your name on it too."

She leaned into her elbows on the tabletop. "What if I want a real drink?"

"It's five o'clock somewhere, sweetheart," he replied with a smirk.

Judy pondered the sarcastic male's words. Clearly, he was letting her set the pace, but there was no indication of his preferences. He'd gladly accompany her into whatever she was interested in. That interested her.

For all the time she'd spent with him, Nick had remained a largely closed book. She had little understanding of his opinions on anything or his mindset. That said, he was being extremely accommodating of her. It was odd in light of their relationship thus far. For a mammal who'd been so mocking, he was being very considerate. Almost warm.

"What's your angle?" The words were out of her mouth before she realized it.

He looked up confused. "Angle?"

"I mean, we—um…" She paused as her mind stalled. She cleared her throat. "Why are you—uh…"

Nick chuckled. "In your own time, Carrots. Nice blush, by the way."

"That's from the alcohol, smartass." She huffed in irritation. "What are you getting out of this?"

"Which part?" he asked arily.

"Being nice to me." She shifted in her seat. "I may not be a cop tomorrow, so I can't pay you and I can't protect you. I damn well blackmailed you into helping my investigation!"

He shrugged. "So?"

"So—" Judy gabbled—"so, what do you gain from taking me bar-hopping? Or taking care of me when I was drunk?"

"Aside from amusement?" For once, his mirth seemed forced.

"You're one of the most mercenary mammals I've ever known. You have made it clear that money is your motivation for everything. You don't do anything that doesn't profit you in some way, and I don't see any profit for you in the last day." She drained her mug and set it down. "You paid out of your own pocket, followed my drunken whims, brought me to your home…. You didn't even take advantage of me. What do you get out of this?"

"Judy," His tone was stern and a little cold. "Last night, you were much the worse for drink and there are rules about things like that. I dislike the implication that I would even consider what you suggest."

Judy blanched. "I—I just-"

He held up a paw, stopping her protests. "I get that you're confused, but please try to avoid insulting me in my own home."

Mortification flooded her. "I'm sorry."

"Accepted." He sighed and the tension bled out of the room a bit. "To answer your question, yes. I am mercenary. I always look for profit. I have to."

"I know. But what do you get out of helping me?"

For an instant, he stared into nothing. "Something that isn't material."

Judy could only blink at his words. No sooner were they out of his mouth than a look of astonishment flitted across his face and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Silently, Nick stood and marched to where the bottles were. A healthy measure of whiskey made its way into his mug and down his throat before she could respond.

"Nick," Judy stood, pacing up behind him.

"Don't, Carrots." He coughed as he poured again. "Not until I've caught up."

She tugged on his arm. "Why?"

He chuckled hollowly, downing another measure. "Five o'clock came early."

"No," she pulled him around to face her. "Why do you need a drink after saying that?"

"That's a secret." He placed a finger on her lips, forestalling her response.

She grabbed his paw away from her mouth. "Now you're upset. Why?"

He looked away. "Let go, rabbit."

"Not until I get an answer," she pressed.

"Not happening." He tried to brush past her.

She planted her feet and pushed him back hard. "Damn it, Nick! Tell me!"

"Tell you what?" He leaned back on the countertop with his elbows. "That I don't have many friends, so I take care of the ones I do? I thought you knew that already."

Judy stared. She could see the challenge in his eyes and the tension he was trying so desperately to hide in his frame. It was obvious why he would want to keep his feelings under wraps. They were so very different—cop and criminal, predator and prey. Once upon a time, his kind hunted hers and now the roles were reversed. There was an odd symmetry there. One she found heartbreaking.

Judy didn't plan to hug him any more than she'd planned the tears, but she couldn't help either. Her arms wrapped around his torso and she couldn't keep them back. She couldn't stand it anymore. The isolation of working alone, the tension, the fear of being caught. Her investigation was over and the consequences were looming, but the pall had been lifted. There wasn't a reason to hold it in anymore and she felt safe for the first time in ages.

That feeling intensified as she felt strong, thin arms wrap around her.

"Sheesh…" His voice was muffled. "Talk about emotional."

Judy huffed a watery laugh into his chest.

He chuckled with her. "Are all rabbits like this? Or are you just that special?"

His words changed something in her. It all built up in her fuddled mind and came pouring out as the emotional stagnation evaporated. He'd cared for her, helped her. Brought her into his home, shown her hospitality. She was his friend. Welcome. Special. Safe. For one moment, she let the tide carry her and she let herself drown in it—her loneliness, the need to connect to someone in a meaningful way—it snuck up on her.

She moved and their lips met.

A moment later, she pulled away to look into his wide, disbelieving eyes. She wanted to laugh. He looked so surprised, so open. So vulnerable. The humor vanished, leaving simple clarity behind. Judy understood. In that moment, she was seeing the mammal behind the mask for the first time. Few friends, no connections. He was as lonely as she was and just as afraid, but so much better at hiding it.

Her paws cupped his cheeks and she kissed him again. Now that she knew, she couldn't stand the look of disbelief on his face. It had been real when she'd kissed him, and she would prove it. She'd prove it until he never doubted it again. At first, Nick didn't move, but Judy was undeterred. She didn't stop and refused to give in until he believed.

Slowly, tentatively, he responded. His grip tightened, pressing her into him and kissing her back. Judy wasn't sure if it was the alcohol and coffee she'd had, but her heart raced and she felt warmer by the second until she was panting between kisses. Their lips parted and met again and again. When he deepened the kiss, elation thrilled through her leaving her lightheaded.

With a force of will she didn't know she had, Judy pushed away and stared up at her friend, the fox. He looked confused, hopeful, anxious—all fitting considering the circumstances. She wanted to laugh. She knew she was smiling. For all the mistakes she'd made, the best one had been trusting a fox.


End file.
